A Hard Day's Night
by sandra70
Summary: An indecent selfie and the consequences. Shameless PWP, what can I say.


With her hair tied into a loose ponytail and still damp from her evening shower, Emma leaves the bathroom, just clad in a white tank top and soft grey cotton panties. As she won't be leaving the house again today and Henry isn't home, she hasn't bothered to put on a bra. She's contemplating whether to put on yoga pants or sweatpants for the cozy evening with pizza and Netflix she's planned, when the bedroom door is thrown open. Not really startled, because she knew Killian would be home around that time, she still jumps a little.

"Hey!" she greets him with a smile and walks up to him immediately, raising on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his lips. They taste salty, as he has been out with his ship all day, testing and fixing the new sail he has rigged her with. Playfully, she nips at his bottom lip before releasing him. "I just got back in from the station," she tells him, "I'm glad you're already home!"

He growls a little in response to her kiss, pulling her against him with his hand splayed on her lower back, before he replies pointedly, "So am I. For various reasons." Stepping back, he tilts his head and raises his eyebrows at her, adding dryly, "As you certainly can imagine, love."

Emma bats her eyelashes innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about, husband," she claims, the smirk playing around her lips clearly belying her.

"Oh, really?" He points his ringed index finger at her. "You are a dirty little liar, Swan," he declares, "and a bloody tease."

She can barely keep the self-satisfaction from her voice. "You're talking about the... _message_ I sent?"

"Message," he snorts. "You mean the picture you took of yourself _before_ you were decent."

Emma laughs, a glorious, carefree sound he could listen to all day. "Oh, come on, I wasn't even naked," she defends herself.

"Perhaps not, but the image of you clad only in your knickers and that feeble excuse for a bodice you call _brassière_ ," he emphasizes the French word in a way that sends tingles down her spine, "doesn't allow a man to concentrate on his task. In fact, it renders it quite..." he pauses for a moment to tilt his head and run his tongue along the inside of his teeth, "... _hard_."

She grins at his innuendo and bites her full bottom lip slowly, deliberately. "Sorry?" she offers in a voice that makes clear how blatantly _not_ sorry she actually is.

"Cheeky, are we?" he comments and takes another step back, much to her dismay.

But she knows he's playing a game, and playing along is always fun. So, she smiles seductively and breathes in a husky voice, "I'll make it up to you..." She reaches out for him, but he holds up his hand.

"Not so fast, my love," he scolds, "I had a very long and uncomfortable day, you can display a little patience now, can't you?" With his hand and the dull curve of his hook on her shoulders he pushes her gently down to sit on the small bench in front of her dressing table. "Why don't you take a seat?"

Emma looks up at him questioningly, trying to anticipate what he's up to, but even though his eyes are dangerously sparkling with mischief now, she has no clue. Her hands are reaching out for him again, but once more, he eludes her touch and steps back. She's slightly disappointed when he turns around and saunters away from her (on the bright side, it gives her the opportunity to admire his pirate swagger), but smirks to herself when he starts to unbutton his shirt.

"What now?" she inquires to his back and hums in appreciation when he lets his shirt slip down over his shoulders. She lets her eyes roam over his bare back, wishing she could trace the scars he bears there with her fingers, and as always, her gaze gets caught by the freshest and angriest of his battle marks, right below his right shoulder blade; the scar left from the exit wound inflicted by Excalibur. The eternal reminder of how lucky they are to be still here, together – and she thanks the fates every day for that. With a little shake of her head, she clears her mind from these distressing thoughts, because now's definitely _not_ the time for that.

Killian slips his shirt skillfully over his brace and hook, tosses it on the bed and turns around. She can't completely suppress a contented sigh and drinks in the enticing sight of her half-naked husband, clad only in his tight black jeans and his boots now. Subconsciously, she curls her fingers around the edge of the bench, wishing she'd be raking them through his chest hair instead, caressing down the flat planes of his stomach and following his treasure trail down to the waist of his jeans. While the hair on his chest is more coarse and curled, the one trailing over his stomach and further down is a bit smoother to the touch. She loves both feelings equally on her skin.

He moves his hand and hook to his belt and starts to unbuckle it, and she huffs.

"Really?" she feigns annoyance, but then accidentally betrays herself when she automatically licks her lips without even noticing. "Are you putting on a show now?"

"No," he replies in a husky voice and pops his button open, "just relieving a little pressure." He lowers his jeans just enough for her to see the bulge straining in his boxer briefs and plops down on the bed with a low groan that sends a bolt of heat into the pit of her stomach. "Ah, that's much better."

Carefully, she folds her right leg over her left. "Have you been like this all day?" she inquires in a teasing tone, obviously pretty satisfied with herself.

"Was that your intention, love?" he asks back and reaches into his boxers, letting his thighs fall apart to have better access. Then he shimmies his pants a little further down and wraps his fingers around his heated flesh, pulling himself out.

Emma swallows thickly at the sight. "I could help with that," she suggests a little breathlessly and presses her legs a little closer together.

"Oh, so _now_ you're gonna be helpful," Killian growls and runs his thumb slowly up and down his length in a lazy caress, "after I had to go through the day with naught but my fantasies?"

She takes the bait eagerly. "Fantasies?" she echoes and shifts a little on her bench. "About me?"

"Aye." He closes his fist around his shaft, not too tightly, and strokes himself from base to tip and back down very slowly. "You were on my mind all day, Swan."

She bites her lip and feels wetness pool inside her. "Tell me about it," she encourages, trying to keep her tone nonchalant and not so desperate, but it's useless, of course. She always found his voice very enticing, but when he talks dirty... oh, that has been her downfall on more than one occasion. The combination with the show he's regaling her with is almost too hot to handle. He's aware of that, of course.

"Hmmm, let's see..." he drawls and looks at the ceiling, as if he has to strain his memory to recall the details. "First, I was thinking of taking you down to the Captain's quarters and having you on my desk. The classic, you could say." His hand keeps moving steadily while he talks, nice and slow, and he closes his eyes for a moment with an appreciative sigh.

"Oh yeah, classic for sure," Emma agrees, her eyes glued to his hand, and her own fingers fidgeting restlessly in the urge to touch herself, but she knows Killian would notice, and she doesn't want him to stop talking. "Bent over?" she asks hopefully.

His eyes open and focus on her again. "No," he replies firmly, and she sees his fingers tighten their grip a bit while never stopping their rhythm, "on your _back_." He savors the word, his voice dropping a little nuance. A delightful little shiver runs down her spine when he continues, "You're looking at me while I make you fall apart." His eyes glitter with a devilish spark, and he runs his tongue across his full bottom lip and adds, _"Repeatedly."_

Oh yes, he certainly has a kink for this, she knows. He loves to see and to hear what he's doing to her.

"Is there more?" she urges.

"M-hmm," he hums almost nonchalantly, "I imagined tying you to the mast, having my wicked way with you, using my fingers and tongue... until you beg me to give it to you." He ceases his ministrations for a moment to swipe the pad of his thumb over his tip. "Which I, of course, do gladly."

She can see his flesh glittering with moisture, and in her mind, she can almost physically _feel_ him against her skin, thick and hot and _hard_. Emma presses her lips together and squirms, trying to apply some pressure on her core. He raises his eyebrows in reprimand.

"Ah ah, what's that, love?" With a wicked grin, he tilts his head. "No friction for you, I'm afraid." She stops moving and glares at him, trying to ignore the ache between her thighs. Killian starts to busy his hand again. "Tell me, are you wet for me yet?"

 _Damn that pirate._ "You know I am," she presses through clenched teeth.

"Show me," he demands. "Spread your legs."

 _God_ , he isn't gonna let her even have the slightest pressure, the _bastard_. Even though she knows the pay off will be impossibly sweeter if the pleasure is delayed like this, his relentless teasing is killing her at the moment. Regardless, she follows his demand – and how could she ever deny him anything? – and reluctantly unfolds her legs, spreading her thighs for him to see. She doesn't need to look down to know there's a dark stain of wetness on her cotton panties; actually, they're fucking _soaked_.

His lips curl into a wicked smile. "Oh my, getting a dose of your own medicine now, are you?" he comments and gives his tip an extra swipe, his own eyelids fluttering for a moment at the sensation, for which she could kill him.

He's a devastatingly gorgeous sight as he sits there on the edge of their bed with his upper body bare, chest puffed out and shoulders broad, legs sinfully spread, and his glorious cock grasped firmly in his hand, working himself lazily while she's condemned to helplessly watch. She wants nothing more (and seriously contemplates it for a moment) than to get up and walk over to him, swat his hand away and push him on his back, straddle him and ride him for good measure, his little game of teasing be damned. But fuck this, she knows whatever he has in mind will be worth the torture she's going through right now, so she fights back her urge and continues to play along.

"I'd rather get a dose of yours," she replies in a strained voice, to which he chuckles amusedly.

"Of course you do," he comments almost nonchalantly. "But don't you want to hear about my favorite fantasy, love?"

"Tell me already," she barely manages. Funny how opposite they are – the more the sexual tension rises between them, the wordier he gets and the more monosyllabic _she_ becomes.

"As the lady wishes," he replies with a tilt of his head and licks his lips in a purely lewd gesture. "I make you _bend over_ ," he emphasizes, "and grasp the helm, hold on to it, while I pull down your jeans and ravish you from behind."

Emma is breathing heavily now. "Hard and fast," she assumes in an almost pleading voice, because yes, she has the image in her head, very vividly, and _God_ , she needs that now. _Anything._

"Gods, _no_ ," he replies, "nice and slow and thorough, with deep strokes, just like _this_." And he stills the movements of his hand and rolls his hips forward in a dirty grind instead, languidly thrusting into his hand. His lips are slightly parted, tongue restlessly moving behind his teeth, and he groans, a deep and feral sound that rocks her right to her throbbing core.

Emma squirms again, her hips moving in sync with his, she can't help it. The sight of Killian leisurely fucking his hand drives her to the brink of madness and desire. She can feel her panties getting soaked even more, and _damn_ , she needs to do something about it now or she'll come on the spot just from listening to him and watching him.

"I could make you feel so good..." she all but begs.

He stops the rolling of his hips and shoots her a filthy look. "You really want to get your mouth on me, don't you, Swan?"

She huffs. "Don't tell me you don't want it just as badly, Jones."

He tilts his head. "Fair point." Letting go of his cock, he gets up from the bed in a fluent move and saunters over to her. "Who am I to deny my wife any of her wishes?"

When she makes a move to rise from her bench, too, he holds up his hand. "Just stay comfortable right where you are, love," he tells her and she obeys with a knowing smile, opens her arms and beckons him nearer.

As soon as he's within her reach, she grabs him at the hips and pulls him close, leaning a little forward enthusiastically. He doesn't even have to guide his cock to her mouth, she finds him, meets him eagerly, and sucks him in deep without any preliminary such as kissing, licking or nibbling which she usually revels in before getting on with it in earnest. But tonight, she decides, they're both just way to worked up for that. Both groan simultaneously when his sensitive tip hits the soft back of her throat. She firmly cups his ass with her hands to hold him in place and gets down to business, and she has _no_ chill.

Killian tangles his fingers into her hair, but lets his palm rest only lightly against the back of her head. He isn't guiding or pushing her; she has the lead in this, it's her show. He looks down at her blond head, bobbing back and forth as she blows more than just his mind, and despite the heat of this moment he's overwhelmed by tenderness. They are both so vulnerable in these moments, both at the same time in control of the other one and at their mercy.

"Bloody hell, you really love doing this, don't you?" he manages in a hoarse voice, and Emma hums in agreement, the vibrations around his heated flesh sending a shiver down his spine. "Show me how much," he demands. She slows her movements a bit, maybe thrown off track for a second, because how on earth could she show him better than by pouring all her enthusiasm into her ministrations? She looks up at him questioningly, and he tells her breathlessly, "Touch yourself. Make yourself feel good." His lips curve into a grin. "You've earned it."

He doesn't have to tell her twice. Her right hand lets go of his ass and wanders right between her spread legs. Immediately, her fingers find the right spot where she aches for release, and she breathes a whimper of relief through her nose. Like before with him, she leaves out all the preliminaries, doesn't start by teasing herself with gentle fluttering. She knows what she needs and where she needs it. With firm and expert fingers, she starts to circle her swollen nub through the soaked fabric of her panties while her mouth never stops working Killian's cock.

"You're a bloody marvel," he praises as he watches her, absolutely fascinated by the enraptured expression on her face. His eyes dart to and fro between her slender fingers caressing herself and her pink lips wrapped around his erection, gliding back and forth over his length. For a moment, he allows himself to close his eyes, to let his head fall back and just revel in the sensation of her mouth on him, _always_ a marvel, bringing him infinite pleasure. The heat pools low in his belly, sparks buzzing at the base of his spine, and his fingers flex in Emma's hair. But he fights the urge to tighten his grip and roll his hips into her face, forcing himself to practice complicated sailor's knots in his head. He doesn't want to get his release like that, he has other things in store.

But she doesn't bloody make it easy for him to stick to that resolve; the urgent little noises she makes while her fingers dance over her core faster and faster arouse him even more, and he says a silent prayer, hoping she'll reach her peak soon. He knows, it can't take much longer now, if the increasing frequency of her whimpers is any indication. Also, the moves of her mouth are getting sloppier, more erratic... Emma's about to lose control.

"Aye, love, just like that," Killian spurs her on, knowing that his voice and his praise never fail to motivate her. "Rub that magic bean. I want you to come with my cock in your mouth."

She almost sobs, and he can feel her whole body tense while her mouth comes to a stuttering halt, even if she's still holding him between her lips. The fingers of her left hand dig into his hip, and he knows she's falling. When she starts to climax, he withdraws from her mouth and moves his hand from the back of her head to her elbow, pulling her to her feet. Her eyes are blinking rapidly in confusion, behind her fluttering eyelids he can see how dilated her pupils are.

Before she has a chance to say anything, he flips her around and, his hand placed firmly between her shoulder blades, bends her over the dressing table to which she obeys with a surprised sound that doesn't even resemble a word. Quickly he pulls down her panties, and when he sees and _feels_ how soaked they are, it sends a fresh wave of arousal through him. All of that happens in the course of mere seconds, and he knows her orgasm is still holding her in its relentless, delirious grip. He doesn't give her the chance to ride it out, but pushes into her with one single, swift thrust, knowing if he doesn't allow her to come down from her high but keeps her right there, he can make her come again in no time. She's still twitching and quivering inside, and she cries out at the sudden feeling of being filled by him, and the feeling is incredible: he's still slick from the blow job she just gave him, and she is from her climax, but when he thrusts home, the drag is impossibly delicious, because she's all tight and swollen inside.

"I'm not done with you yet," he growls and, with a flick of his wrist, wraps her ponytail around his hook, pulling her head back a little so that their eyes meet in the mirror. _"Watch."_

And she does.

This – when he takes her from behind – has always been one of her favorite positions, the angle is exquisite, the pushes deep, and Killian's thrusts have even more drive. There's just one disadvantage: when he's behind her, she cannot see his face, cannot look into his eyes. But now she can, and it doubles her pleasure to _see_ his fingers press into the flesh of her hip, the flex of his left bicep as he tugs at her hair, the feral, predatory expression on his face as he pumps his hips forward, and the lust in his eyes. And – not only can she see what _he's_ doing, she can also see what it's doing to _him_. The cords of his neck look hard as steel ropes, and his upper lip pulls back to bare his teeth, giving him an even more animal expression. That is when the flames are licking at the base of her spine again, and her eyes flutter shut.

Emma presses the heels of her hands down on the wooden desk to hold up against the impact of his pushes and concentrates on the sensations. Goosebumps break out between her shoulder blades, and the soles of her feet prickle, always a undeniable sign of her impending orgasm. She feels her hair being released and drops her head a little as she pushes her hips back to meet Killian's. The dull curve of his hook pressing into her left hip and pulling her back against him is the last thing she's consciously aware of before her climax is crashing into her, rolling over her with might. Because she hasn't even had the chance to recover from her first one, to really come down, it feels almost like a continuation of it, and she's shaking all over. Killian fucks her through it, and as the rushing of the blood in her ears subsides, she vaguely feels him tense inside her.

When it's over and she feels the heavy calmness settle in her bones that always follows such a feverish high, she opens her eyes again and studies him in the mirror, but he doesn't look at her. His eyes are closed and his head thrown back, his beautiful face flushed yet relaxed in complete abandon, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat as he rides out his own high. His fingers and hook are still pressing into her hips, and the muscles of his abdomen flex when his hips stutter erratically as he thrusts his aftershocks into her. To Emma it's a gorgeous sight, seeing him so vigorous and vulnerable at the same time, and it's really cheesy, but in moments like this she can't help but think how much she loves him.

Finally, Killian stills completely and lets out a deep breath that comes out as a sigh. She smiles to herself and clenches her inner muscles around him. He opens his eyes.

"Are you trying to wreck me, wife?" His voice is still a little breathless.

She grins. "Serves you right."

She straightens her back and pushes herself up into a standing position, causing him to slip out of her and making a complete mess of her panties; but when you have magic, any sticky mess, be it due to sex or kitchen mishaps, really isn't anything to worry about. She turns around to face him and smiles when he leaves his hand and hook resting against her bare hips. Content to finally be able to touch him, she lays her palms on his pecs, dragging her fingertips through his slightly dampened chest hair. Quickly, she leans into him and swipes her tongue across his left collarbone, humming at the taste of salt on his flushed skin.

"Did those fantasies of yours involve a shower at some point?" she murmurs against the crook of his neck where she continues her nibbling, causing him to draw in a sharp breath.

"Bit of advice," he growls, "You're playing with fire."

Emma chuckles and nudges the side of his throat with her nose. "Oh, I've been doing that since I let you put a magical cuff on my wrist and then climbed that beanstalk with you."

When she feels his Adam's apple bob, she tips her head back to look at him. The suspicious glittering of his eyes and the twitching muscle in his jaw betray how much her words, her casual admission have touched him. He swallows again. "Have you, now?" he whispers huskily.

She smiles and brushes a kiss on his lips. "And never regretted a single moment."


End file.
